#Spatial Tuning

[mindblowingscience]

The neurons firing inside the brain's memory center as we sleep might not only be revisiting past experiences. According to a new study, they could also be looking towards the future, rehearsing activity that hasn't happened yet. A team led by researchers from the University of Michigan analyzed brain wave readings from rats during times of wakefulness and times of sleep. Readings were taken before, during, and after the animals tackled maze challenges in order to evaluate the preferences of nerve cells while outside of the maze, such as during periods of rest. "We addressed this challenge by relating the activity of each individual neuron to the activity of all the other neurons," says anesthesiologist Kamran Diba, from the University of Michigan. "The ability to track the preferences of neurons even without a stimulus was an important breakthrough for us."

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[dustinthew]

Spatial Vox - The Voice of Selene (Official Video)

[primepaginequotidiani]

PRIMA PAGINA Le Figaro di Oggi martedì, 22 ottobre 2024

[beloveds-embrace]

(p2 of mail order soldier könig)

Despite everything, you really weren’t ready for how big he was.

Sure, his profile had mentioned it- “tall” in bold, all-caps, like a warning label or a selling point, depending on your preferences alongside his equally intimidating name. And his vibe? Absolutely screamed haunted clock tower. You had expected “tall” in the way NBA players were tall, or the way celebrities looked tall on red carpets but were actually like 5’10” in real life. But this? This was different. This was architectural: König didn’t just walk into a space; he filled it like a cathedral with opinions. You stood next to him and felt like a misplaced LEGO figure who’d been granted custody of an ancient war relic. Every time he moved, you felt the displacement of air like God was adjusting a chess piece.

You had thought all of that because the trip back to your temporary apartment had been… an ordeal. König didn’t drive. You hadn’t even gotten far enough to ask why. It could’ve been a moral objection, a PTSD trigger, or just the fact that his knees probably touched his chin in a Toyota Corolla. You didn’t drive either (personal trauma plus urban nihilism), so rideshare it was. When the driver pulled up and caught a glimpse of König, who stood beside you like an executioner summoned from a darker, angrier timeline, the man audibly gasped and his foot started to inch toward the gas pedal.

You leaned in through the passenger window with your brightest, most deranged smile. “Five stars and I’ll make sure he doesn’t flay you.”

The driver nodded- poossibly blacked out. And drove like the devil was behind him, which, to be fair, he kind of was.

Arriving at your building was when the spatial tragedy truly began. König had to duck to get into the lobby. Not in a cute, awkward way, but like a kaiju visiting a dollhouse. The fluorescent lights buzzed uneasily overhead, dimming just slightly as if reacting to his gravitational pull, and you became hyper-aware of everything you owned and how none of it was rated for the stress test of Austrian death cryptid.

The elevator? Out of the question. Your third-floor apartment? Suddenly way too far from the ground. König climbed the stairs like a war machine from a documentary about siege tactics, each footstep a dull thud that you were certain would cost you your damage deposit, but at least he seemed to have no complaints… though you were sure he was unhappy with how you had to stop to catch your breath lseveral times while he remained military-commercial ready.

When you opened your apartment door and gestured grandly, the words that came out were: “This is… home. Temporary. Probably. Until you accidentally break the building and we need to live in a cave.”

König said nothing. Just paused in the doorway, ducking under the frame with practiced effort, and lingered there for a moment. His eyes- somewhere behind that hood, surely?- swept the place with a slow, methodical awareness that made you wonder how many exits he could already map and how many sniping points your living room offered.

You gestured to the couch with the fatal optimism of someone about to learn a lesson. “You can sit. If it holds.”

It did not. Or rather, it gave one last dramatic gasp of life. There was a creak, a pop, and then a long, soft crunch that felt less like furniture collapsing and more like it was filing for a legal separation. König, to his credit, looked apologetic. Or maybe he didn’t; it was hard to tell with the hood, but his shoulders hunched slightly, and that seemed like the body language equivalent of a Canadian “sorry.”

“…Okay. Floor’s fine too. Floor is classic.”

He lowered himself with all the elegance of a collapsing war monument, folding into a sprawl of limbs that somehow took up more space despite being on the ground. He sat cross-legged like a monk, if monks were built like tanks and radiated a kill count.

And then- the doorbell rang an unwelcome, familiar tune that made you freeze.

Not the good kind of freeze, and not the surprise-party kind. The fight-or-flight-oh-god-it’s-him kind. That sound- that arrogant, familiar, triple-tap of someone who thought your doorbell was a buzzer for attention? That was him.

Your ex-fiancé.

You turned slowly to König, who had stilled completely. His body didn’t move, but his attention locked onto the door like a predator scenting blood. He was suddenly alert, dangerous, like a loaded gun that had remembered it had a purpose.

“Okay,” you whispered, as if trying not to disturb a spirit. “This is a test. A dry run. Like a fire drill, except instead of fire, it’s a narcissistic man with commitment issues.”

König tilted his head slightly, and though you couldn’t see his face, you were 90% sure that meant, Shall I gut him or just remove the legs?

You held up one finger. “Let’s just… see what he wants first.”

You cracked the door open, just enough to peek through and block most of König’s terrifying silhouette. And there he was. Your ex-fiancé, smug as ever with his hair gelled within an inch of its life, shirt unbuttoned just enough to reveal a gold chain that you were pretty sure had been repossessed twice.

“Hey, babe,” he said with that smirk that had once seemed charming and now just looked like he was trying to seduce his own reflection. He completely brushed over the fact that he had followed you all the way here, to this supposedly hidden apartment you got until you had König with you. “You haven’t been answering my texts.”

“I changed phones,” you replied instantly. “And numbers. And species.”

He gave a little laugh like you were just being coy. Leaned on the doorframe with the forced casualness of someone trying to win you back with zero self-awareness and all his tricks learned from BookTok. “Look, I know we’ve had our differences, but I’ve been thinking-”

And that was when König rose. Not stood, but rose.

The doorframe went from well-lit to eclipsed in seconds. A gloved hand slid into view and gripped the edge of the door, the fingers longer than your ex’s attention span. Your ex’s expression did a full software reboot.

“…Who the hell is that?”

You offered a cheerful shrug. “Oh, that’s König. My security system. He came with knives and trauma.”

König took one slow, deliberate step forward. He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. The pressure of him, the sheer atmospheric density of his presence, did all the work. It was like standing in front of an oncoming avalanche and realizing the snow hates you.

Your ex-fiancé made a sound- a half-choked, half-whined hiccup that suggested his ego had just herniated. Still, he tried to rally. Puffing his chest. “I’m not scared of him, okay? You think you can threaten me with some… some cosplaying lunatic?”

König stepped forward again. Just one inch. Just enough.

The air grew heavy.

Your ex backpedaled so fast you almost heard cartoon sound effects. “Y-you know what? This is toxic. You’re toxic. I was trying to be the bigger person!”

König tilted his head again. Just enough to reveal a single glint of eye behind the hood, and it made your ex scream.

Actually screamed. Like a man encountering the consequences of his actions for the very first time. And then he was gone. Fled down the hallway like the answer to a prayer you hadn’t had time to finish.

“We’ll talk later!”

No, we won’t.

You shut the door with the satisfying click of sealing a tomb, you grin slowly stretching.

König turned back to you, then, silent and still waiting. .

You reached up and patted his arm- gently, because you were fairly certain that bicep could be registered as a medieval weapon. “A+, no notes. Extremely threatening. Ten out of ten cryptid vibes. You are great!”

He made a low soun that was not quite a grunt and not quite a sigh, and you took it as a thank-you.

Later, after the adrenaline had faded, you handed him a mug of tea- which looked comically small in his massive hands, like a Barbie accessory. He held it delicately, reverently, as if you’d handed him a precious museum piece instead of an herbal infusion from a grocery store.

You curled up on the wrecked edge of your couch, eyeing him across the room.

“Y’know,” you murmured, half to yourself, “this might actually work out.”

He didn’t reply, but he did lean a little closer.

“What d’you want for lunch?” You finally remembered to ask, standing up with your hands on your hips like you were Superman awaiting orders from Batman and not actually one of the miserable civilians that need to be saved regularly.

“We gotta keep you big and thick, König! So just say what you’d like.”

…he was staring a little too intently at you, actually. You kind of felt like you were kinning your ex-fiancé in this moment.

[katrasining]

SHIP KIDS!!! 🫶🫶🫶

Gave them names (ty for suggestions💕) and some basic info. This is also to scale for height comparison! ^^

Character info under the cut 👇

IVANTILL KIDS ►

THEO -introvert -literature student -quiet, mature big bro -unathletic -loves granma Io -saw his parents always play fighting and thought he had to get his shit together and be the adult

likes: books, sweets, cooking, Hanbyul dislikes: spicy food, noise talent: pen spinning

CAS -extrovert -older twin -the artsy one -can't draw without listening to music -very protective of Lux -loves his mama Till -mischief incarnate, loves pranking people with Lux -crybaby

likes: art, attractive people, seafood dislikes: ugly people talent: spatial awareness

LUX -ambivert -younger twin -clings to Cas -very fast and agile, does track and field -gets teased by some guys cus he acts a bit more feminine -prefers befriending girls

likes: tiny things, crossdressing, fashion dislikes: mean people, ugly color combos talent: makeup

TIA -extrovert -the family's princess! -stares at people -loves music and her parents' lullabies -will grow up to love playing instruments -will grow up to be a bit of a tomboy cus her family's all guys

likes: stuffed toys, music dislikes: sour food talent: being cute

MIZISUA KIDS ►

LILY -introvert -medical student (general surgery) -everyone's noona/unnie -very quiet -secretly very petty -has a fascination with the human body, creeps some people out -will do anything for Kai

likes: horror movies, muscles, Hanbyul dislikes: noise talent: tuning people out

KAI -introvert -extremely shy, easily scared -has a stutter (reduces over times) -loves sleeping while holding onto his noona and mamas -loves learning about animals but scared to touch them

likes: sleeping, big empty spaces, Princess dislikes: sudden noises talent: memorization

HYULUKA KIDS ►

HANBYUL -extreme extrovert -hangs out with his uncles a lot -gym rat -NO BRAINCELLS -skipped college and works as a fitness instructor -intimidating looks with a very likeable personality -extremely oblivious…

likes: people, food dislikes: inactivity, jerks talent: likeability

PRINCESS -pomeranian! -hylk got married early but weren't sure about kids for a long time so they got Princess -spoiled rotten -has a collection of clothes and accessories -has an insta with 2.8 million followers

likes: attention dislikes: wet food talent: being photogenic

[solxamber]

Hi! I had some questions about your guideverse AU after reading one of your fics. I’ll admit most of it is just because I’m unfamiliar with the concept of a “guideverse” AU.

How does the guiding work? How do the bonds actually work? The idea of being able to force one ruined any understanding I could piece together. One of your fics mentioned the reader being a battle-type esper, so there must be something like support-type espers too? How is that classification determined? I assume it has to do with the type of powers manifested. Also, I noticed there’s a pattern of calling espers dramatic. Is this just a plot thing, or do the powers make them more emotionally unstable?

Sorry for the wall of questions.

omg guideverse questions yippee (don't be sorry i get really excited when i see questions about guideverse!!!)

these are not answers for every guideverse, this is just how things work in mine specifically!

How does guiding work?

When a Guide touches an Esper—always skin-to-skin—it acts as a conduit that opens a psychic link. This link allows the Guide to "hear" or "feel" the Esper’s emotional and neural frequencies.

Once contact is made, the Guide consciously pushes their own stable frequency toward the Esper’s. Think of it like tuning two instruments to the same pitch.

How do these bonds work?

So there are 2 types of bonds: Temporary and Permanent. They're both used for making the guiding process more efficient.

Temporary Bonds:

A temporary bond is a flexible, short-term connection between a Guide and an Esper. Its usually initiated when there's a large rank difference between Esper and Guide to make sure that the Esper can feel the exertion and stop when the Guide is getting dangerously drained.

Permanent Bond:

A permanent bond is a rare, lifelong psychic connection formed when a Guide and an Esper resonate at a near-perfect frequency and both willingly consent to solidify the link. The guiding is more efficient when the pair is permanently bonded.

Consequences of a permanent bond:

For the Guide:

They become unable to guide anyone else.

For the Esper:

They can no longer be effectively guided by anyone else.

Others may try, but the effects will be weakened, often feeling hollow or even physically uncomfortable.

Forced Bonding?

A forced bond occurs when an Esper deliberately overwhelms or hijacks a Guide's resonance without consent, attempting to lock a bond against the Guide’s will.

These are extremely rare and universally condemned—both ethically and legally.

Consequences:

For the Guide:

Suffers psychic trauma—the equivalent of being set on fire from the inside.

Experiences a sharp, often permanent loss in guiding efficiency.

For the Esper:

The bond does not become permanent, no matter how hard they push. It eventually collapses under its own instability.

Most Espers who attempt this do so out of desperation, not malice—but it’s still treated as a serious offense.

Types of Espers?

There are Battle Types and Support Types. They're classified according to the abilities that they get.

Battle Type Espers:

Primary Role:

Offense, combat engagement, and direct suppression of Gate-born entities.

Abilities:

High-output, volatile, or destructive in nature.

Manifest as elemental control, psychic force projection, weaponization of thought, or raw energy manipulation.

Prone to power surges and emotional bleed-through during high-stress combat, making them heavily reliant on stable guiding.

Support Type Espers: (Very rare)

Primary Role:

Defense, utility, stabilization, and team augmentation.

Abilities:

Subtle but essential—often involve shielding, spatial control, time perception slowing, healing, detection.

Designed to regulate or manipulate the Gate environment itself, rather than destroy what's inside it.

Still emotionally reactive, but generally more stable than Battle-types.

Are espers dramatic or is it a side effect?

Almost all Espers are emotionally unstable.

Emotional instability isn’t a flaw in Espers—it’s practically a feature of the job. The very nature of being an Esper means existing with your psyche wide open, constantly flooded with noise, power, and pressure. Even the strongest ones—the SSS-Ranks who clear Gates single-handedly—aren’t immune. In fact, the more powerful an Esper is, the louder the chaos gets.

1. Noise

This “psychic noise” never really turns off. Sleep doesn’t mute it. Solitude just sharpens it.

Guides help quiet it, but outside of those sessions? It’s like trying to meditate during a rock concert.

2. Guilt

Espers are the first into Gates and the last out.

They’re trained to fight, save, contain—and failures stick. Hard.

Many Espers carry survivor’s guilt or a martyr complex. They can’t save everyone, and that gnaws at them.

Hope this cleared up some things!!

[melshifting]

THE ULTIMATE SPORTS & HOBBIES SCRIPTING PACK ꒰ 01 ꒱ .☘︎ ݁˖

❝ It’s not even fair how good they are at everything.❞

— VOLLEYBALL

♫ ㆍ Your inner clock adjusts to match the rhythm of every match—so you never mistime a jump, hit too early, or react too slow.

♫ ㆍ Your arms and hands never sting or swell after a hard dig or block, no matter how intense the play.

♫ ㆍ No matter the lighting or gym, your depth perception stays crystal clear.

♫ ㆍ You can instantly spot weak points in any team’s formation after one rotation.

♫ ㆍ Your intuition about out balls is always right. No hesitation when letting a deep shot go—you just know when not to touch it.

♫ ㆍ You’re naturally synced with your setter—even if you’ve never played together, you feel their rhythm instantly.

♫ ㆍ Your serves are never accidentally out—you’re free to risk jump serves, floaters, or short serves.

♫ ㆍ Tape never peels, pads never slip; everything you put on stays in place without needing constant adjustments.

— DRAWING/PAINTING

♫ ㆍ Even at the most detailed and intricate strokes, your hand maintains perfect precision, removing the need for rulers or corrections.

♫ ㆍ Your brushes never wear out or fray, they always stay in perfect condition.

♫ ㆍ Without trial and error, you mix your paints knowing instinctively the exact color combination to achieve any shade.

♫ ㆍ You can draw or paint in complete darkness—your muscular memory and spatial awareness allow you to create impeccable pieces.

♫ ㆍ You have an intuitive understanding of anatomy and proportions. Everything and anything looks realistic and dynamic, regardless of perspective.

♫ ㆍ When something doesn't look right, your eye immediately identifies the problem, and you know how to correct it without starting from scratch.

♫ ㆍ References appear in your mind like flashcards—if you’ve seen it once you can mentally flip back to it when sketching.

♫ ㆍ You’re not sure why, but your favorite pen seems to stretch for extra pages, your paint tubes never dry out, and your erasers don’t crumble.

— ICE SKATING

♫ ㆍ Your blades never need sharpening—they’re always at their optimal state.

♫ ㆍ Even on cold trails, you maintain flexibility and warmth, eliminating the risk of stiffness or injury.

♫ ㆍ You never forget your choreography mid-routine—your muscles narrate the performance before your brain even finishes thinking.

♫ ㆍ Your spins are always perfectly centered—your balance is so impeccable that your spins look flawless.

♫ ㆍ Even the most intricate routines are fixed in your mind after seeing them just once.

♫ ㆍ Your body mechanics are so finely tuned that high-difficulty steps become your signature moves.

♫ ㆍ After you fall, your clothes never get soaked or uncomfortable. You bounce up, and it’s like nothing touched you.

♫ ㆍ Your costume/outfit never tears, rides up, or itches.

— WRITING

♫ ㆍ Every time you reread your work, the mistakes or awkward parts stand out just enough to catch, but not enough to make you spiral.

♫ ㆍ You never forget that one specific word you’re looking for, it bubbles up exactly when you need it.

♫ ㆍ You're so good at describing a feeling or detail, that readers often say “I’ve never seen it written like that before” because it’s deeply accurate.

♫ ㆍ You never lose the initial feeling that made you want to write something in the first place.

♫ ㆍ You keep what matters without over-polishing—you know which edits would please a reader and which would dilute your voice.

♫ ㆍ Your notebooks/docs never lose structure, even if you’re jumping between ideas.

♫ ㆍ When you need inspiration, you always “randomly” stumble upon the right book, show, or quote.

♫ ㆍ Your back never hurts from long writing sessions; you shift naturally and stretch intuitively between sessions.

[realhumanbaby]

how do you tune out the noise

I travel to the southernmost part of the continent and spend 7 days camping alone by the sea. Each morning I stumble out of my tent at 5:30am to watch the sunrise, and listen in horror as my mind senselessly generates language thoughts with the hope that one might relieve some unresolved feeling. Turns out, real solutions do not arrive in the the form of language. They are spatial in character, like pieces slotting to form a new structure. A real solution does not need to be written down with any urgency. Once it arrives, it is impossible to forget

[celenawrites]

pretty when you cry

pairing - Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

word count - 2.4k

warnings - Ghost is a bit of a dick but he gets better, Reader is a bit of a crybaby here but it's just cuz she's very in tune with her emotions, Simon is emotionally constipated and cannot handle feelings, some fluff, heavy-ish (?) angst, open ending, etc.

Note - Kinda got tired of writing fluffy stuff all the time and my mental health is fraying atm, so I decided to (hopefully) hurt some folks with this little piece. Enjoy!

AO3 Version

Divider by @/firefly-graphics

You cry easy. 

That's what Ghost thought of you when you first joined Task Force-141. 

While he has always been skeptical of any new additions (often temporary) to the team he has come to love and trust after going through hell and back, Price was convinced that your impeccable record on stealth ops, your physical agility, and your skills as a sniper were much needed. 

Reluctantly, Ghost silently accepts his Captain’s decision.

However, time and time again, your sensitive nature had him worried that you might prove to be a heavy liability to the team. 

When you stub your toe against the leg of the table, you let out a few tears of frustration and pain, cursing everyone and their mothers while you hold your injured foot in the air as you comically jump around the kitchen, even though your lack of spatial awareness was to be blamed here. It is almost always a comical sight, Gaz rubbing your back in comfort while you curse and cry, failing to hide his amusement. Soap is not afraid to laugh at your face for it, while Price has this twinkle in his eye as he asks you to sit and eat something for breakfast. 

Simon ignores the flutter in his stomach when you take a seat next to him on the table, your wet hair letting out wafts of jasmine - all for him to smell and keep to himself. 

You cry when you accidentally let the door close on your pinky, dramatic hiccups leaving you as Soap ties up your little finger with white bandages, stroking your hair as he consoles you, "That's a brave lassie, yeah? You got this". (Soap has always been good with people, Simon notes.) Sometimes, Soap will be ‘kind enough’ to offer you to kiss your injuries better and you’d shove him, your face giving away the embarrassment and the humorous jest you feel around the demolition expert. 

You weep uncontrollably when you watch Marley and Me with Gaz in the rec room. Price and Ghost had been passing by, discussing the aftermath of a mission they had just returned from when they heard loud sobs coming from the usually empty room. They peer in to find both of you huddled close in soft blankets, a bowl of popcorn propped up in your lap and a box of tissues in Gaz’s lap, as you munch on the buttery snack and cry over the adorable dog finally being put to rest. You lean into Gaz for comfort and Ghost wonders if you still smell of mud and caked blood like you did on the field. 

Price decides to break up the party as he enters the room, clearing up his throat to grab the attention of his Sergeants. Your lip wobbles as he lightly scolds you, his brow laden with concern as he looks at you and tells you both to go get some much-needed rest. You pass him by as you leave the room, your hand being a feather’s touch away from his and he almost holds onto you. (He still has no idea why he almost reacted like that to you)

One time, Price had been sent to help Laswell out on a crucial mission and all you had accomplished during those three and a half weeks was mope around and wish your Captain were here. You’d be lying on the sofa in the common room and you’d whine to your companions. “I’m so bored. I miss Captain. I wish he was here”, you’d pout and Soap and Gaz would gang up on you, teasing you as they asked you whether you had some unresolved feelings for dear Price. (The idea of you coveting Price like a lover seemed ridiculous to him, really. You and the Captain? Not a chance)

And then there was that one time when you had to go on a solo mission (the first of you being on your own since you joined the task force, really) and when you had come back to him them, battered and bloodied and disheveled but still safe and sound and Price lets out a sigh of relief, his shoulders sagging as if all the weight of the world has disappeared now that you’re back home, back to your team (where you now rightfully belong). You rush to them, running as if you cannot close the distance between them fast enough, and Price hugs you with steady arms as he lets you cry into his shoulder, wetting his uniform as you all but sob in relief, leaning on your Captain for support as your legs turn like jelly, unable to support the weight of your weary body. 

It must’ve been terrifying - being out there on the field, hostility and death surrounding you in all directions and the only person you could possibly rely on is yourself. Keeping yourself safe and sane as you navigate unknown terrain and fight off the monsters who wear the skins of humans and pollute the very Earth they have been raised on. Blood and gore and gunpowder clinging to you like a second skin as you pray to survive another night and make it back home safely. Back to your team. 

Back to your kind captain, and sergeants you have befriended and a cold Lieutenant who sometimes fails to hide the care he carries for you in his brown eyes. 

Price has a look of sympathy and understanding on his face as he drags you to the infirmary, even holding your trembling hand in his warm palm as you flinch at the sight of the large syringe needle and hiss in pain whenever the alcohol-soaked cotton is applied to your cuts. He soothes you with a gentle pat on your back, mindful of your treated injuries as he softly tells you to clean up and maybe get some much needed sleep, asking Gaz to supply you with something to eat before you doze off due to fatigue and the morphine still floating in your system. 

Ghost found it annoying for the most part - sometimes snapping at you to "Shut up and focus" on bad days and while he’s still irked at the sentimentality you possess, something that he and his comrades have willingly allowed to wither and die in their souls, a small part of him - a part of him that still resembles who Simon was, a mimicry of the humanness he hasn’t felt in his dead soul for years, worried about you. Worried sick about you and your emotions and the lack of lid you have on it. Worried if he had been too harsh on you because he doesn’t do emotions, and clearly he is out of his depth when it comes to dealing with people, but especially when it comes to dealing with you. 

He realizes he doesn’t mind you crying all that much. 

You go out for drinks to celebrate your successful solo mission and you spend the time you had lost on the field with your teammates - you play billiards with Gaz against Soap and Ghost and lose sorely, and then you try out a peg of whiskey the Captain has ordered and Price laughs heartily as you sputter and whine as the drink burns your esophagus. You somehow convince Ghost to teach you how to throw darts and he tries to not lean into your warmth as he stands behind you, his gloved hand holding your wrist as he positions you and teaches you how to throw the wooden dart you hold between your smooth fingers, and tells you all he knows about making sure that the little thing hits the dartboard without fail. 

Simon can smell your jasmine shampoo and your citrus perfume on you as he uses his hands to correct your posture. He can feel how soft and pliant you are under him, eager to obey and please him, and all he can think about is what it’d be like - being your confidante, being the voice of reason for you when you’re drowning in emotions, being a sturdy shoulder for you to cry on. 

And he knows for a fact that you’d be all that and more in a heartbeat if he allowed you to. 

You lean onto Simon for support, your head lolling onto his shoulder as he quietly guides you to your bedroom. You hum quietly as he carefully makes you lie down on your bed, removing your shoes for you and when you beg him to help you remove the little makeup you had applied for the night (Price blatantly ignoring the use of contraband because it’s you), he surprisingly complies. Years of applying camo paint on his face give him the needed experience around using micellar water and makeup wipes as he helps you prepare yourself for a night of mindless sleeping, which will be followed by a hangover in the morning plaguing almost all of them. (He swears he’ll force you to drink the ginger tea he’ll make, no matter how much you’d whine about it tasting ‘yucky’. He’d rather not have you hurling over everything like a cat with a persistent hairball stuck in its throat).

“I’m so happy”, you hum to yourself as Simon tilts your head up. 

“Close your eyes, Sergeant”, he orders and you comply, feeling the soaked cotton pad rub against your eyelids as your Lieutenant removes your pink eye shadow. It’s a pretty color on you, Simon thinks but he never says it out loud.  

You stay silent as he finishes up with your work, his calloused fingertips tilting and moving your head to look at any missed spots he might’ve overlooked in the dim bedroom light. 

“All done”, he scruffs, getting up on his feet and he hears you call out to him as he leaves the room.

“What is it?” he asks, wishing to be in his warm bed on this cold night. 

“Thank you, sir”, you say earnestly with your eyes shining with sincerity and an unrecognizable emotion. 

Simon observes you - you lying on your bed in the clothes you wore to the bar, with most of your makeup removed and your eyes struggling to stay open as intoxication and tiredness tempt you to forget the world and sleep.

A moment too late, he asks you, “What are you thanking me for, rookie?”

Only to find you out cold.

He sighs, draping the thin blanket over your shivering body and leaving you alone in your room. 

When you wake up the next day with a hangover headache, your makeup removed and your blanket draped over you tenderly, you make your way to the common kitchen and you ask your moody superior if he remembers anything from the night before - your hazy memory failing to cover the gaps in your memory. 

He gruffly says out, “No” and then hands you a cup of ginger tea, looking at you intensely as he waits for you to whine about the bitter taste of the tea he’s made for you. Knowing it’s a lost fight, you let out an exasperated sigh and thank your Lieutenant for the hangover cure. He looks at you a beat too long before leaving you to your own devices, exiting the room, and going God knows where. 

It takes him time, with all that he is and all that he has been through, to come to a new conclusion for his first impression of you. Steadily with time, Simon realizes that the reason you cry so easily is not because you're weak. 

It’s because you’re brave. 

Brave enough to express yourself and not fear rejection from others. Brave enough to show that you care, to show that you love life and people and everything life has to offer. Brave and kind and valiant in everything you do, Simon is almost jealous of your ability to be so open and free. He wonders what it would be like to let go and just allow himself to feel. 

It’d probably drown him alive. 

It might set him free. 

He’d never get the chance to know though. 

Now again, you sob as you put pressure on his abdomen wound as you talk to him with a wet, unstable voice, “Stay awake for me, Lt. We will all make it”. You sound like you’re trying to convince yourself more than him. (You need that reassurance more than him anyway).

He’s sluggish, the blood loss and pain makes it hard for him to focus on your blurry face and the skull mask on his face doesn’t help him either. He’s immobile, despite trying his level best to raise his hand up so that he can wipe away the stray tears on your cheeks. He parts his lips to tell you to please stop crying, to tell you how he’s not worth the worry, he’s not worthy of your tears - not when he has vehemently admonished you for them all this time. 

But all he can do is let out a low moan of pain, his eyes rolling back in his head. He can hear your voice, can hear the worry and fear and panic as you call out to him, but everything is hard and he can hear you but comprehending your words is near impossible with the ringing in his ears and the whirring of the helicopter that came in to rescue him and his team. He’s aware of his teammates sitting beside him - he can imagine their solemn faces as they cope with the possibility of him succumbing to his wounds before they make it back to safety. But he focuses on you instead - sweet, radiant you who worries about everyone and everything; who wears her heart on her sleeve and still holds onto the hope that he will make it out of this ordeal alive, even though he can feel his life slipping away from him like the sands of time.

Each breath of his is labored, and Simon wishes for nothing more than to wipe away your tears or to maybe hold your soft self against his injured body, cradling you close to his heart as he vows to survive this for you. Only for you. 

Through black spots and dryness, he blinks up to look at you and he has this realization, a moment of pure ‘Eureka!’ as he observes your worsened state of being. 

You have never been prettier than this instant, crying over him and praying to any kind of deity who’d grant him the boon of life. 

Satisfied with his discovery and suddenly extremely tired, he allows himself to close his eyes, letting the fatigue win and the last thing he sees is you crying for him to stay alive and fight. 

The last thing he hears is your sobs as you beg someone, anyone to save your Lieutenant. 

Note -

Title is thanks to the song 'Pretty When You Cry' by Lana Del Rey, although I wasn't actually listening to the song while writing this.

[little2nerdy]

saw this post by @moonsnqil and had to write something, disclaimer:  i wrote this while sitting through a sexology lecture so take the quality with a grain of salt.

----

Neil was exhausted. 

He had been tired before. On the run with his mother, during his 16-hour days at Evermore, when he was recovering from his stint in Baltimore, after a game, during finals season. Being tired wasn’t new. But this was different.

The exhaustion. The heaviness in his limbs and the fog in his brain. For someone who had the requirement of constant awareness beat into him, he had been increasingly unable to keep himself tuned into what was going on, and the motivation to care about his surroundings was lacking. 

After months of throwing himself into practices, developing new drills with Kevin at night practices, co-captain responsibilities, runs every morning, and socializing with the upperclassmen, he was becoming keenly aware of how tired even the little things were making him. He was slowing down.

His usually easy homework took days instead of hours, he was bumping into people in hallways, leaving movie nights with the team to go to bed early, the walks from the math building to Fox Tower took ten minutes longer than they ever had.

At first he thought he was getting sick. He’d gone to Abby and told her she'd listened to him list his symptoms, her lips turning down in the corners, as she looked at him with not unfamiliar concern for his well-being. But she’d taken his temperature and asked him the standard questions and sent him to the student health center for a round of uncomfortable swabs to test for common campus plagues. But he was fine, medically, so he kept going. For a while, at least.

Except those little things turned into bigger things. He was missing drills and tripping over his own feet at practice, he was sleeping through his alarms, nodding off in crowded classrooms, not having the energy for runs in the morning, wishing they didn't have a game on a Friday night. Which turned into skipping his morning class. Skipping lift. Then skipping his afternoon classes. Skipping practice. And night practice.

The fatigue was consuming, eating him from the inside out, scooping out everything he’d ever known and filling it with concrete, weighing down his limbs, locking words and actions out of his reach. And for the first time in his life, he didn’t know how to get through to tomorrow. There was nothing to run from or run to, there was only him right now and cavernous freedom that he stood at the edge of, and fleetingly he thought that was the most frightening thing he had ever faced. 

----

Andrew had seen it coming. He saw the shift in Neil after the deal with the Moriayama’s had been made. Neil had been on the run his entire life. He’d been expecting to die. To have the possibility of a long, relatively safe, life laid out in front of him was something he’d never even contemplated. He had watched as Neil threw himself into anything and everything after the season ended.

He noticed the multiple runs a day, the calls with Dan about how they wanted to do things in the fall, the increase in obnoxious drill development talks between him and Kevin. He saw the effort he put in with the new recruits and the too much thought he put into his schedule. But he also saw the bags under Neil’s blue eyes, the napping without meaning to, the lack of quick reactions and spatial awareness on the court. 

“It's not uncommon,” Bee had said after he’d inadvertently spent the first fifteen minutes of his session giving her the lowdown on Neil’s declining state and his…concern… that a crash was imminent when she’d asked how the week had been. “Neil has been in a constant state of stress his entire life. But he was permitted to make a life for himself here among your team and as Neil Josten the person, not just a throwaway identity. His body can sense that shift. It’s trying to play catch up for years of trauma that he’s never had the time or space to deal with. Both mentally and physically.”

So when Neil didn’t move from bed Monday morning when his alarm went off, Andrew knew it was all coming to a head. He watched from his spot in the window as Neil lay in his bunk, unmoving, quiet except for hitching breaths that interrupted the shallow expansion of his lungs every few minutes. He watched as an hour passed. And then two. He stood to pull a hoodie and Neil’s favorite annoyingly orange sweats from their dresser, stacking them on the counter in the bathroom before he made his way to stand at the edge of Neil’s bed. 

“Neil.” He got no response except for a slight stilling of the sheets as Neil’s breath settled. “Get up. Go to the bathroom.” He watched as Neil very slowly rolled over, eyes squinted against the brightness of the window but made no further move to get up. Blue eyes tracked Andrew as he squatted so they were eye level. He reached a hand out and hovered it over Neil’s unruly curls. A scared hand appeared from under the blanket and brought Andrew’s fingers to his hair.

A few minutes of just breathing passed between them, Andrew’s fingers slowly untangling the rat’s nest that had formed on Neil’s head. “Neil.” He tugged at the strands in his fingers. Neil took a deep breath and pushed himself to sitting. Andrew held out both his hands and Neil took them so he could be pulled up. They stood mirroring each other, Neil leaning against the frame of the bunks, fatigue blanketing his frame.

“Go to the bathroom. Take a shower.” Neil nodded, moving towards the bathroom. As soon as the door closed and the shower turned on, Andrew stripped the bed and remade it. He went to the kitchen, he grabbed one of the stupid protein bars that Kevin had gotten Neil hooked on and filled Neil’s water bottle. He sat at the edge of the bed, waiting.

When Neil reappeared he somehow looked even more exhausted than he had before. Eyes empty of their usual spark, wet curls dampening the hood he’d pulled up like a protective barrier. Andrew pushed the opened bar into his hands and watched as Neil mechanically chewed his way through it, reaching for his water bottle when he was done.

Satisfied with the modicum of care he’d been allowed to push on Neil, he let him curl up under the sheets once more. Neil grabbed Andrew’s sleeve as he went to move away and tugged lightly. His eyes, on the verge of closing, flicked to the end of the bed.

Andrew nodded and Neil released his sleeve, letting Andrew slide onto the foot of the bed after grabbing his book, settling a hand on Neil’s ankle through the plush blanket Matt had gifted him. He watched as Neil’s breathing settled once more and he fell back into a stillness that Andrew had never seen from him, even in sleep. 

Hours later, when Kevin returned to the dorm, he stood in the doorway, staring for a few seconds before he opened his mouth to speak. 

“No.” Andrew’s voice was quiet but sharp. He stood from his spot at the end of the bed slowly, he knew the sleep that Neil was currently getting was the kind that shouldn’t be disturbed. He forced Kevin out of the bedroom and into the kitchen, pulling the door shut behind him. 

“He needs to come to practice. The season is starting to pick up and he can’t afford to sit out. He’s co-captain for Christ’s sake.”

“He needs this. Talk to Wymack and Winfield. They will agree with me.” Kevin glared at him before pulling out his phone and walking away. A few minutes later he came back, scowl firmly in place. 

“So?” The glare Kevin sent him was pathetic. 

“Abby says he should sit out for as long as he needs.” Andrew nodded, turning back to the bedroom, leaving a grumbling Kevin in his wake.

----

The dorm felt like a crypt, dark and eerily silent. Coaxing Neil out of bed for anything was a process, getting him to eat was harder. Neil hadn’t spoken a word, sleeping almost constantly, or just curled up staring unseeing at the wall. Despite the upperclassmen still being wary of Andrew, they all came to him to ask how they could help.

As much as Andrew was loath to admit, they all cared for Neil and he knew that he couldn’t deal with this completely alone. Abby and Wymack dealt with Neil's professors, Bee offered Andrew an outlet for his concerns and offered to speak with Neil when he finally made it through this stage, though that seemed unlikely to occur.

The upperclassmen, along with Andrew's group, worked out their schedules and took on Neil in shifts, appearing at the door when Andrew had class or an appointment with Bee or just needed a break. Neil was never alone. It settled something in Andrew that he didn't realize had been restless since Neil fell into this state of limbo. 

They all just sat sentinel keeping watch when he was asleep but when he was awake they all filled the heavy silence in their own unique ways. Allison came with stacks of fashion magazines from her merchandising class, circling things she would want to see Neil in and looking up tips for how to fix dye damage and take care of curls, a mission that she and Dan had been co-conspirators in since Neil let Allison cut his hair at the end of the season.

Matt came and sat silently with Neil, and besides Andrew was the most successful at getting him to take care of himself. Dan kept him updated on the team despite Neil's lack of response or input, and Kevin was a verbal flood of anything exy whenever he appeared in the dorms.

Renee kept the fridge stocked with fresh fruit and other foods she knew Neil liked. Even Aaron brought Neil’s notes from their shared science class. Nicky fell quickly into his parent mode that he'd been in when he'd first taken in Aaron and Andrew. Doing laundry and cleaning, but also making sure that even if Neil wouldn't respond, the silence was filled at least for a little bit. 

A week of rotating shifts passed as Neil's body tried to catch up on almost twenty years of missed sleep and repair his relationship with the concept of living past the age of 19. Thankfully, they were on a bye this week, no game, no travel. On Saturday evening, Andrew sat with his back against the wall working through another shitty mystery novel when Neil spoke for the first time.

He had been curled up around Andrew, hands grasping the hem of his pullover. Neil’s voice was rough from disuse and the tears that everyone had seen Neil shedding periodically but never addressed. It was so quiet that if Andrew hadn’t been painfully aware of Neil’s every move this week he would’ve missed it. 

“Thank you.”

[the-flaneur]

cat on a lake (op81)

pairing: oscar piastri x girlfriend!reader

summary: attempting to impress oscar on a date, you assume that the aussie had never ice skated before - but oh how the turn tables turn...

warnings: tooth rotting fluff

wc: 1009

[masterlist] [requests]

as you eagerly stumbled towards the open air ice rink, earmuffs and beanie perched carefully on your head, oscar couldn’t help but look nervously at the ice. yes, he had occasionally visited some of england’s indoor and outdoor ice rinks, but the fear of injuries during his karting days had quickly put a stop to any attempts to even step on the ice. 

call his manager overly cautious, but there was no way they were risking any of the time and investment of himself and his parents, just for it to come down to a dangerous quick slip on the ice.

after confessing he had never stepped foot on the icy surface, you practically demanded that the two of you would go to a rink for a taste of the perfect winter. and as the final race finally rolled around, and oscar was left to enjoy his well deserved holidays from mclaren, you snagged two tickets to the rink and excitedly drove there the whole way. although, oscar may have preferred you not to have belted the entire tunes of frozen just to “get him in the icy spirit”

“osc! don’t be so scared, i’ll be here the whole time,” you grinned, checking and tightening your skate laces once more, before joining the equally eager queue of young children, couples and families waiting to step out onto the rink. 

rolling his eyes cheekily, oscar let you drag him at the gate before gripping tightly onto his arm and the barrier like a vice. as you almost tumbled straight into the crowd, he grinned, “careful there babe, you can’t abandon me now,” as he stepped beside you.

gripping the wall, you slowly edged your way around the rink. oscar’s right behind you, although you don’t dare look back from the fear of crashing into someone or something.  you’re flinching when speed skaters pass you and……and oh my god? is that oscar?

“osc?” you mutter confusedly, watching your boyfriend immediately push off into the middle of the rink, before doing a half turn??? since when did he suddenly become yuzuru hanyu…except australian? and not actually an ice skater?

at your incredulous and ridiculously jaw dropped face, oscar grins, gliding effortlessly towards you, movements fluid and graceful like a swan, "what, you didn't know i had a secret talent? imaging the british winters really helps," he teases, striking another pose in front of you, making you squawk in surprise.

"okay, okay, enough showing off piastri," you shout, laughing at his antics, "with this new talent please focus on getting your very terribly trained girlfriend through this without face-planting." oscar winks at you as he reaches out to take your hand, helping steady you as you both make your way (slowly) around the rink.

"you're really good at this. do i need mark to sign you up for the national team?” you tease, slowly pushing more confidently, although not without the occasional arm flapping and pounding heart.

rolling his eyes at your quip, he snarks “pretty sure the australian team is defunct babe, we’re not exactly known for a white christmas.” laughing and feeling more at ease now that he's holding your hand, you grin playfully "well, maybe you could revive it then?" 

pouting, oscar begins to slowly pull you away from the barrier, much to your chagrin. you attempt to yelp out at him to stop taking everything so quickly, and let you slow down, before teasing back, that “being fast” was in fact his job. smiling at his sass, you laugh and shake your head, “alright alright, mr. speed demon, let's just get through this without too many bruises, okay?"

as you continued circling the rink, oscar's grip on your hand remained reassuringly firm, guiding you along, dodging unruly children who unfortunately had no sense of personal space nor spatial awareness and unruly adults who also unfortunately had no sense of personal space nor spatial awareness. however, every so often, he shoots you encouraging glances over his shoulder, his rich brown eyes sparkling with amusement and affection.

"i swear, if you trip again, i'm carrying you the rest of the way," he jokes, his voice low and teasing. you had somehow managed to clip your own blade as you attempted to avoid crashing into another skater, but the sound of his laughter sends a warm flutter through your chest. you both manage a few more laps, gradually growing more comfortable on the slippery surface, but still gripping his hands tightly. 

eventually, you begin to glide smoothly across the rink, the rhythmic clicks of your blades filling the crisp winter air, "you're doing great!" oscars exclaims, giving your hand a gentle squeeze as you complete a lap without him or stumbling, "i knew you'd pick it up in no time." you flash him a grateful smile, the cold forgotten in the comfort of his words and touch.

suddenly, the familiar tune of "all i want for christmas is you" fills the rink, you can't help but enthusiastically lip sync to mariah’s passionate intro, a wide grin spreading across your face. as the bells ring out, oscar’s eyes twinkle with mirth as he leads you into a dance on the ice, "come on babe, let's show these skaters how it's done!" he grins, pulling you close.

your bodies nearly touch as you twirl around the rink. the cold air seems to vanish, replaced by the warmth of his proximity and the magic of the christmas season (as corny as it may seem), "it's about time we got to this holiday classic," he teases, his voice smooth in your ear. "although, i think the real question is... what else do you want for christmas, babe?"

"mmm, well, aside from you not being such a show-off on the ic-.....mmpff,”

oscar cuts you off with a swift, tender kiss, his lips pressing softly against yours as the music swirls around you. when he finally breaks the kiss, leaving you breathless and smiling, he murmurs against your lips, "that's one thing i can definitely deliver on."

permanent f1 taglist (comment or msg me to join)

@charlesgirl16 @tallrock35 @sweate-r-weathe-r @unlikelystay @alex-wotton

@daisyfreecs @euphorihan @louloucs @oikarma @dying-inside-but-its-classy

@fadingcloudballoon @princessminjikwon @chick-from-nz @nina-or-anna-or-nora

@freyathehuntress

© the-flanuer || do not copy, rewrite or translate any of my work on any platform.

[the-southern-cereal-king]

I’m relistening to tma for the umpteenth time, and some of the statements are horrifying, yes, but some are so fucking funny to think about in context.

MAG 24 Strange music, MAG 38 Lost and Found, and MAG 103 Cruelty Free are three that come to mind.

In MAG 24, the grandfather of the statement giver loves his granddaughter so much his power of the Stranger came and killed her shitty bf and then Breekon and Hope looney tunes style stole her calliope.

In MAG 38, a homophobic vase steals a man’s husband and makes him experience adhd spatial awareness.

In MAG 104, a killer pig did not kill his owner, and chose to chill with him, and ended up being sealed into a cement prison.

[the-most-humble-blog]

🧠 Post-Nut Clarity: It’s Not That He Doesn’t Love You. It’s Just That His Brain Thinks You’re a Haunted Blanket Right Now.🌺

Hey sugarplum, pull up a chair. And for the love of self-awareness, I hope you’re not overdressed. Because what you’re about to read? Needs to be felt. Raw. No padding. Like a mood swing with teeth.

Trust me.

Let me explain this with surgical clarity:

He still likes you. He still thinks you’re hot. He still might even love you.

But after he nuts?

Your cooch feels like it’s haunting him. Like it’s whispering evil thoughts into his brain. Like it’s trying to steal his soul through his taint.

That’s not emotional betrayal. That’s biology.

You didn’t lose him. He just returned to the mothership.

What Is Post-Nut Clarity?

It’s not a meme. It’s a hormonal collapse.

After orgasm, the male body experiences a rapid drop in:

Dopamine (pleasure chemical)

Oxytocin (bonding hormone)

Prolactin (sexual satiety regulator)

All three tank instantly.

What’s left? Cortisol. Testosterone. Hyper-alert overstimulation.

You think he pulled away because he’s “cold.” No. He’s actually rebooting his nervous system while your hot, steamy, post-orgasmic womb heat is literally frying his spine.

He’s not avoiding you. His body is just whispering:

“If we don’t move soon… we’re gonna die here.”

From The Notebook to The Exorcist in 10 Seconds

Before nut:

“You’re everything. You’re my person. I’d die for this.”

After nut:

“Why is she breathing on me like that?” “Why is it so hot in here?” “Why does her skin feel like a trap?”

You were the star of his romantic fantasy. Then you became the creature from the Black Lagoon—and his entire system just wants air, quiet, and distance.

It’s not about you. It’s about him returning to baseline.

His hormones just ran a marathon. His soul took a lap around Jupiter.

And you’re still trying to kiss? His body’s thinking:

“Ma’am. I’m spiritually exhausted. Please vacate the premises.”

You’re Looking Through a Female Lens. And It Lies to You.

Women are trained to interpret all distance as emotional abandonment. But that’s a female-coded illusion.

Your biology is tuned for bonding during and after sex. His biology is tuned for dispersion.

You want to hold. Nest. Whisper. He wants to exhale, stretch, and remember who he is.

You see withdrawal as rejection. But it’s not. It’s post-ejaculatory spatial regulation.

Stop using your lens to decode his experience. It’s like trying to understand a nuclear reactor using a scented candle.

Feminism Secretly Hates Women

You wanna know the real betrayal? Feminism lied to you about men.

It told you:

“If he loves you, he’ll act like a woman.”

Wrong.

Feminism taught you to invalidate biological truth and call it empowerment. Taught you to shame men for being men. And worst of all?

It made you afraid of your own femininity.

You’ve been trained to see his withdrawal as an insult. Instead of the ancient, hormonal reset ritual it is.

Post-nut clarity isn’t toxic masculinity. It’s the recalibration of divine masculine software. And if you respected yourself, you’d give him space to reboot without crying about it.

What’s Actually Happening?

He nut. YOU MADE HIM NUT. His soul left his body. His body panicked. His hormones reset. His logical brain returned. And now he’s looking at you like you’re a cooch demon whispering, “Again?”

It’s not rejection. It’s the fall of Rome, but in his balls.

He’ll be back.

But let the man breathe, for Pete's sake.

Take it as a compliment.

Or risk turning a king into a ghost who texts less and jerks off more to avoid the emotional landmine of your reactions.

How to Respond Like a Goddess, Not a Gollum

Don’t cling.

Don’t analyze.

Don’t cry into his chest like he cheated.

That makes it worse.

Just exhale. Roll off. Play it cool.

He will remember you as the one who understood his sacred hormonal reset. And he’ll crave your peace the next time he wants to explode inside you.

“He’s not mean. You’re just still vibrating and he’s trying to spiritually survive.”

Your vagina becomes a haunted hallway post-nut. Let him find the exit. It's temporary.

Feminism lied to you. Men don’t process like you. And that’s okay.

You’re confusing a hormonal reboot with emotional betrayal. Relax.

Post-nut clarity is not a breakup. It’s a biochemical bath.

⚠️ Free Speech Disclaimer: This post is 100% satire protected under the U.S. Constitution. If your clit or ego twitched during this, consult your shadow self.

📩 DM me if you’ve ever been emotionally triggered by a man asking for space after nutting.

💬 Comment if you’ve accidentally made a man feel haunted with post-coital cuddling.

🔁 Reblog if you’re done looking at men through a hormonal mirror.

👀 Tag a woman who needs to respect the nut hangover.

[primepaginequotidiani]

PRIMA PAGINA Le Figaro di Oggi lunedì, 21 ottobre 2024

[reverieshifts]

𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆

𝒔𝒄𝒊-𝒇𝒊 𝒅𝒓

Estimated Frequency: ~1 in 1,000 Velari

Velari Term: "Sha’lurei" 

Offworlder Term: “resonance”

𝒃𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒊𝒄𝒂𝒍 𝒃𝒂𝒔𝒊𝒔

Lumen Node Function: The foundation of resonance-based abilities lies in the lumen node, a specialized neural cluster located near the upper spine, unique to the velari species. In resonants, this node exhibits hyper-synchronous neural oscillation, allowing it to function as a localized psionic amplifier. It contains an unusually dense lattice of iridesium-aligned neurofilaments—a bio-reactive crystalline structure found only in velari tissue—which enhances long-range synaptic cohesion and sensory processing far beyond baseline parameters.

Cognitive Resonance Field (CRF): Rather than emitting force, resonants interface with the ambient energy of space-time through a passive psionic field—an extension of their consciousness that subtly syncs with biological, emotional, and electro-mechanical rhythms in their environment. This “Cognitive Resonance Field” allows them to perceive, interpret, and gently manipulate localized energy patterns without direct contact.

Empathetic Feedback Loop: Resonants process external stimuli through a layered empathic interface, enabling them to “feel” spatial tension, neural dissonance, and even emotional signatures. Many describe the sensation as “walking through thought” or “hearing the world breathe.” This heightened feedback loop enables rapid threat detection, environmental awareness, and non-verbal communication through emotional echo.

𝒄𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒇𝒖𝒏𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒄𝒂𝒑𝒂𝒃𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒆𝒔

Psychokinetic Manipulation: Through fine-tuned modulation of their CRF, a Resonant can exert subtle kinetic influence on physical objects. Rather than brute force, this manipulation stems from temporary energetic entanglement—an induced alignment between their own neural patterns and the vibratory signature of nearby matter. Movement appears fluid, almost instinctive; objects float, twist, or halt midair as if persuaded rather than forced. Precision scales with emotional clarity and environmental quietude, while range is limited by both psionic focus and spatial density.

Resonant Drift (Self-Levitation): By finely tuning their CRF to the kinetic frequencies of the immediate environment, a resonant can initiate a state of partial anti-kinetic equilibrium—a passive suspension that allows them to float or drift gracefully above the ground. Unlike propulsion-based flight, this “resonant drift” feels more like weightlessness anchored to emotional and spatial awareness. They tend to float instinctively when calm, contemplative, or emotionally overwhelmed. The effect becomes more stable in low-gravity environments or when they are barefoot and in full skin contact with their surroundings. Movement during drift is smooth, gliding, and eerily silent.

Neural Interface Override (“Soft Sync”): By attuning their CRF to simple electronic fields, a Resonant can override low-grade or analog electronic interfaces, such as doors, terminals, scanning systems, and older AI systems without neural shielding. This isn’t hacking—it's resonant subversion: they convince the system it’s already received proper authorization. The process is not instantaneous and requires direct proximity and focus. More complex or modern systems—especially encrypted or military-grade—typically resist this technique or trigger failsafes if improperly tuned.

Emotional Signature Mapping: Resonants perceive the emotional imprint of nearby sentients as complex tonal signatures within their field. These signatures fluctuate with mood, intent, and neural activity, enabling a trained Resonant to distinguish lies, detect concealed aggression, or sense psychological distress before it becomes visible. In groups, they can navigate emotional “weather,” identifying tensions, loyalties, or fractures long before they escalate.

Memory Resonance Touch: With direct skin contact and sufficient emotional synchronization, a Resonant can access echoes of memory embedded in living beings or objects with long-term energetic exposure. This is not a perfect playback, but a fragmented, emotional reconstruction—flashes of fear, joy, grief, or pain layered into the subject like a psychic fingerprint. They typically use this carefully, as overwhelming memories can bleed into their own consciousnesses, leaving them shaken or dazed.

Proximity-Based Thought Echo: While full telepathy is rare and unsustainable, Resonants are capable of passive thought-echo reception within close proximity. This typically manifests as fleeting impressions—unspoken words, images, or urges bleeding across the resonance field. Such impressions are strongest during heightened emotional states or direct physical contact. With deep bonds, this effect can intensify into partial shared cognition, allowing them to communicate without speech under stress.

Environmental Sensory Overlay: The CRF interfaces with a Resonant’s perception as an augmented sensory overlay, mapping environmental tension, motion, and energetic flow in real time. They can detect concealed movement, identify stress fractures in structures, track electromagnetic shifts, or feel malfunctioning machinery before failure occurs. In high-focus states, this field awareness extends through walls, into wiring, and along conduits—turning the space around them into a kind of living schematic.

Energetic Residue Tracing: Every living being and powered device leaves behind a faint resonant signature. A resonant can “listen” to these echoes in a given space to determine recent activity—detecting where someone stood, what systems were accessed, or what emotional state they were in. It works best on unaltered environments and within minutes or hours of the initial event. Older traces become distorted or overwritten. This ability makes them invaluable for post-incident analysis, tracking, or infiltration prep.

Neural Dampening Field (Perceptual Obfuscation): By dampening the outward frequency of their own resonance field, a Resonant can slip beneath the notice of most passive sensors and casual observation. This creates a soft perceptual blind spot, blurring details or delaying recognition in both sentient and synthetic awareness. It doesn't render them invisible—just forgettable. Useful for slipping past scanning systems or lingering unseen in plain sight, especially when paired with stillness and low emotional output. Stronger AI or high-alert targets may still detect them with effort. The effect is brief, typically measured in minutes.

Syncwalk (Micro-Teleportation Glimpses): In moments of deep focus or crisis, a resonant may “blink” across very short distances—instantaneous resonance displacement over a few meters. This is not true teleportation, but a momentary phase-skip, where their field synchronizes so tightly with space that it temporarily collapses and reforms their physical presence along a natural energy seam (such as a corridor, high-voltage conduit, or psionic turbulence vein). Side effects may include nausea, temporal dissonance, or mild electrical charge.

Psionic Disruption Pulse (“Breaker Note”): In moments of acute distress or self-defense, a Resonant can release a burst of destabilized resonance—an involuntary psionic shockwave that disrupts electronic systems, weakens mental shields, and disorients nearby sentients. This “Breaker Note” is not a weapon they control, but a side effect of violent resonance collapse. Systems flicker, glass fractures, and unshielded minds may experience vertigo, nausea, or blackout. Recovery varies by species and exposure.

Energetic Stabilization ("Resonance Sink"): In environments with fluctuating electromagnetic or psionic interference (e.g. hyperspace tunnels, collapsed sectors, psychic storms), a Resonant can act as a stabilizing presence. Their CRF naturally harmonizes nearby fields, creating a calm “bubble” that resists disruptive effects. This function is subconscious and limited in radius, but invaluable for helping allies stay grounded in unstable conditions. In prolonged crises, they often become the centerpoint others unconsciously gravitate toward—emotionally and physically.

Resonance Bonding (Selective): Through sustained exposure and mutual trust, a Resonant can form a biopsionic link with a specific individual. This bond allows for continuous emotional tracking, rapid non-verbal communication, and increased stability of both parties' CRFs when in close proximity. Such bonds are rare, often instinctive, and potentially permanent. Once formed, it is a two-way tether—one that transcends normal distance thresholds and occasionally manifests as shared dreams, dual-state reflexes, or unintentional synchronization.

𝒍𝒊𝒎𝒊𝒕𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒓𝒊𝒔𝒌𝒔

Energetic Depletion: While the CRF operates passively at low levels, active resonance manipulation consumes considerable neural and metabolic energy. Prolonged or intensive use—especially heavy psychokinesis, neural dampening field projection, syncwalking, or the release of a breaker note—can lead to symptoms of acute neural exhaustion, including dizziness, tremors, blurred vision, tinnitus, and spatial disorientation. In advanced stages, overextension may trigger nosebleeds, loss of motor coordination, unconsciousness, or psionic seizures caused by synaptic misfiring within the lumen node.

Emotional Instability: A Resonant’s power is intertwined with their emotional state. Intense emotions—fear, rage, grief—can amplify resonance uncontrollably. While this may grant temporary surges in power, it often results in field bleed, where the CRF spikes erratically, disrupting electronics, disorienting allies, or unintentionally projecting thoughts and memories outward. Emotional overload may also trigger the breaker note reflexively, endangering nearby personnel. Thus, Resonants are trained to regulate their emotional output carefully.

Cognitive Noise Threshold: Environments with high energetic interference—such as densely populated city centers, military command decks, or battlefields—can overload a Resonant’s sensory field. The constant barrage of emotional signatures, EM fields, and kinetic motion can produce a sensory “hum” that drowns out their fine-tuned perception. In these conditions, abilities may become muted, erratic, or outright disabled unless they can find stillness or an anchor point (such as a bonded individual).

Field Range Limitations: The Cognitive Resonance Field is localized, typically extending only a few meters from the user’s body. Precision psychokinetics and soft-sync interfacing require proximity within arm’s reach or line-of-sight. Emotional and sensory mapping is strongest within a 10–15 meter radius, and drops off sharply beyond that. A resonant cannot affect or perceive distant targets unless a direct bond has been formed—and even then, range is variable and unreliable.

Bond Vulnerability: Resonance bonds, while powerful, are also liabilities. Through them, a Resonant can experience echoes of pain, fear, or emotional collapse from a linked partner—and they from them. In moments of physical trauma or mental instability, the bond may destabilize both parties simultaneously, amplifying stress responses or creating shared disorientation. Severing a bond—voluntarily or by death—can trigger a complete CRF collapse, with unknown long-term neurological impact.

𝒆𝒙𝒕𝒓𝒂

Ok, so there's a lot of information shoved into here, so sorry about that, but I love making myself overpowered, so yeah. Like with my description of the velari species, I tried to make this sound a little more scientific to fit with the whole sci-fi theme, so again, it may read like a bit of a report. But anyways, all this basically comes down to the fact that resonant velari are able to sync up with the world around them, and sort of convince reality to act as they please. Because resonance isn't control or manipulation, it's a discussion with the universe itself.

@aprilshiftz @lalalian

[geometrymatters]

Buckminster Fuller: Synergetics and Systems

Synergetics

Synergetics, concept introduced by Buckminster Fuller, is an interdisciplinary study of geometry, patterns, and spatial relationships that provides a method and a philosophy for understanding and solving complex problems. The term “synergetics” comes from the Greek word “synergos,” meaning “working together.” Fuller’s synergetics is a system of thinking that seeks to understand the cooperative interactions among parts of a whole, leading to outcomes that are unpredicted by the behavior of the parts when studied in isolation.

Fuller’s understanding of systems relied upon the concept of synergy. With the emergence of unpredicted system behaviors by the behaviors of the system’s components, this perspective invites us to transcend the limitations of our immediate perception and to perceive larger systems, and to delve deeper to see relevant systems within the situation. It beckons us to ‘tune-in’ to the appropriate systems as we bring our awareness to a particular challenge or situation.

He perceived the Universe as an intricate construct of systems. He proposed that everything, from our thoughts to the cosmos, is a system. This perspective, now a cornerstone of modern thinking, suggests that the geometry of systems and their models are the keys to deciphering the behaviors and interactions we witness in the Universe.

In his “Synergetics: Explorations in the Geometry of Thinking” Fuller presents a profound exploration of geometric thinking, offering readers a transformative journey through a four-dimensional Universe. Fuller’s work combines geometric logic with metaphors drawn from human experience, resulting in a framework that elucidates concepts such as entropy, Einstein’s relativity equations, and the meaning of existence. Within this paradigm, abstract notions become lucid, understandable, and immediately engaging, propelling readers to delve into the depths of profound philosophical inquiry.

Fuller’s framework revolves around the principle of synergetics, which emphasizes the interconnectedness and harmony of geometric relationships. Drawing inspiration from nature, he illustrates that balance and equilibrium are akin to a stack of closely packed oranges in a grocery store, highlighting the delicate equilibrium present in the Universe. By intertwining concepts from visual geometry and technical design, Fuller’s work demonstrates his expertise in spatial understanding and mathematical prowess. The book challenges readers to expand their perspectives and grasp the intricate interplay between shapes, mathematics, and the dimensions of the human mind.

At its core, “Synergetics” presents a philosophical inquiry into the nature of existence and the human thought process. Fuller’s use of neologisms and expansive, thought-provoking ideas sparks profound contemplation. While some may find the book challenging due to its complexity, it is a testament to Fuller’s intellectual prowess and his ability to offer unique insights into the fundamental workings of the Universe, pushing the boundaries of human knowledge and transforming the fields of design, mathematics, and philosophy .

When applied to cognitive science, the concept of synergetics offers a holistic approach to understanding the human mind. It suggests that cognitive processes, rather than being separate functions, are interconnected parts of a whole system that work together synergistically. This perspective aligns with recent developments in cognitive science that view cognition as a complex, dynamic system. It suggests that our cognitive abilities emerge from the interaction of numerous mental processes, much like the complex patterns that emerge in physical and biological systems studied under synergetics.

In this context, geometry serves as a language to describe this cognitive architecture. Just as the geometric patterns in synergetic structures reveal the underlying principles of organization, the ‘geometric’ arrangement of cognitive processes could potentially reveal the principles that govern our cognitive abilities. This perspective extends Fuller’s belief in the power of geometry as a tool for understanding complex systems, from the physical structures he designed to the very architecture of our minds. It suggests that by studying the ‘geometry’ of cognition, we might gain insights into the principles of cognitive organization and the nature of human intelligence.

Systems

Fuller’s philosophy underscored that systems are distinct entities, each with a unique shape that sets them apart from their surroundings. He envisioned each system as a tetrahedron, a geometric form with an inside and an outside, connected by a minimum of four corners or nodes. These nodes, connected by what Fuller referred to as relations, serve as the sinews that hold the system together. These relations could manifest as flows, forces, or fields. Fuller’s philosophy also emphasized that systems are not isolated entities. At their boundaries, every node is linked to its surroundings, and all system corners are ‘leaky’, either brimming with extra energy or in need of energy.

Fuller attributed the properties and characteristics of systems to what he called generalized principles. These are laws of the Universe that hold true everywhere and at all times. For instance, everything we perceive is a specific configuration of energy or material, and the form of this configuration is determined by these universal principles.

Fuller’s philosophy also encompassed the idea that every situation is a dance of interacting systems. He encouraged us to explore the ways in which systems interact within and with each other. He saw each of us as part of the cosmic dance, continually coupling with other systems. This coupling could be as loose as the atoms of air in a room, or as flexible as molecules of water flowing.

We find that precession is completely regenerative one brings out the other. So I gave you the dropping the stone in the water, and the wave went out that way. And this way beget that way. And that way beget that way. And that’s why your circular wave emanates. Once you begin to get into “precession” you find yourself understanding phenomena that you’ve seen a stone falling in the water all of your life, and have never really known why the wave does just what it does.

Fuller’s concept of precession, or systems coupling, is a testament to his deep understanding of systems and their interactions. He described how we sometimes orbit a system, such as a political movement or an artistic method. Our orbit remains stable when the force that attracts us is dynamically balanced by the force that propels us away. This understanding of precession allows us to comprehend phenomena that we have observed all our lives, yet never truly understood why they behave as they do. Fuller’s teachings on systems and their inherent geometry continue to illuminate our understanding of the Universe and our place within it.